Page 6 of Wayward
“Now move,” Durant barks.
Chapter 3
Inventory
Haley
Itake Easton’s hand, my attention glued to the bruise rising above his eye. It’s red and swollen with a nasty purple splotch. A trickle of blood rolls down the side of his face. I don’t ask if he’s okay. He’s furious, but he hides it a heck of a lot better than Calvin or Dante. His "swim meet face" is what I call it. Like he’s ready to take on world-class competitors.
Harris takes the lead as we walk down the path to the waterfall. Did Easton tell them he buried the diamonds out here? Is that why we’re walking this way? It must be. I don’t ask questions. But the list of things Calvin taught me about running and keeping quiet in the woods plays on repeat in the back of my head.Keep your breathing steady, Chiefie?deep in, deep out?so when it’s time to run, your legs will listen to you and not to your panic. Watch where you’re stepping. Be quick. Remember, doubling back is sometimes the best way to throw people off.Not that I’m going to run. Not unless Easton gives me a sign.
I do my best to remain calm, but no amount of box-breathing is going to get me through this. Not alone. My heart rattles around inside my ribs, ready to burst out of my body. Breathe in for four counts, hold for four counts, out for four counts . . . yeah.
Harris’s shoulders brush along the fronds rattling in front of us. He’s staying to one side of the path, keeping Easton in his peripheral vision. I would never have noticed something like that before. Mr. Z?Thayer?is right behind us, and the two other guards are behind him. I’m running scenarios, over and over; is there anything I could do to overpower Thayer? But no. Not with three giant guys with guns. And that bruise on Easton’s face? That’s most likely from Thayer. His guard came back to camp from the beach fast, so I don’t think he’s the one who hit Easton. There wouldn’t have been time.
“What’s this tree, Hal?” Mr. Z asks from behind me.
“Nephrolepis species, I believe, sword fern. At least, that’s what I’ve been calling it.” I’ve named everything from memory, or created names myself. It’s going to be almost impossible to unlearn the mistakes I’ve made. Talking about plants gives me a sense of security that I shouldn’t have.
“Violent?I like it. And this one?” He bends the frond down.
“Banana.” I smile politely. There are small green fruits hanging above our heads.
“Oh, of course. A banana frond. Did you know that, Holloway?”
“Yes.”
“Right, Florida man. Well, not that type of Florida Man,” Thayer says without a hint of sarcasm.
Where is Thayer from? He’s got a vaguely European accent, but he knows about Florida Man, the joke that men from Florida commit heinously stupid crimes, like breaking into the zoo to wrestle an alligator or calling the police on themselves to report they’re high. He knows a thing or two about the States. I have alist of questions I want to ask him, but now’s not the time. I need to be alert.
“Sword fern and banana. What about this one?”
“Stop it, Mr. Zzzz.” Easton draws the letter out. “Leave her alone.”
“I’m just asking her about her degree. Or rather, almost-degree.” He’s trying to get me?us?worked up. I take Easton’s hand and squeeze it. Calm. I try and push at him telepathically. His blue eyes hold mine. And we’re quiet for a few minutes, the only sound the rustle of Harris’s shoulders hitting the fronds as he walks.
My throat narrows, and I’m back to doing the box-breathing. I don’t need a degree to be a stew. I want to defend myself, but that’s pointless. He’s trying to get under my skin, and letting him know he’s succeeding will give him power. Dante told me a long time ago, “Don’t give anyone your power.” I’m holding my breath until the perfect counterpoint pops out.
“What about the other raft? You know so much about me, about all of us. You must know what happened to our friends on the other raft, to Easton’s family,” I ask. Sam asked about it while Easton and Z were on the beach, but the guards didn’t answer, just gave me a small heart attack when Holloway said it might set us to grieving. Then he retracted it. I’m tired of their games, but I already know that Thayer is a master player toying with his prey. He’s come a long way from somewhere to track us down, when a man like him could easily have sent hirelings after us instead.
Easton flashes me a look. He must know already. He thins his lips at me and shakes his head. What does that mean? No, they’re dead? No, Thayer doesn’t know? I’m not sure which Easton is trying to tell me.
“The other raft? The one from the Rock Candy?” he asks, and if it weren’t for the three guys holding guns, I’d punchhim. Instead, I keep my lips sealed, just like when the primary in Ibiza asked specifically for Dom Pérignon champagne in her preference sheet. When I poured her a glass on the first day of charter, she went nuts, smashing her glass on the deck because it wasn’t Cristal. Later in the day, I overheard her talking to her friend about how you had to be a little crazy to keep the staff on their toes. The rest of the trip, I poured Veuve Clicquot (cheapish, relatively speaking) champagne into a Cristal bottle, and she never said a word. It’s good, but nowhere near as good as the other two labels, and anyone who likes champagne should be able to tell the difference between the three of them. Did I feel guilty about it for a month? Yes, but . . . Fine, I still feel guilty about it.
“Thay-er.” I draw out his name like I’m scolding a small child or a primary. Which quite often feels like the same thing.
“Yes, Hal.” He doesn’t bite at my tone but stops and smiles at me. It’s smooth. “I know about the other raft.”
“And?”
“We’ll see how Easton behaves here. Maybe I’ll tell him . . . if he earns the knowledge for knowledge, as they say. You’ve got to give something to get something.” His brown eyes twinkle. The curls on the top of his hair blow around lightly with the breeze that’s coming down the path from the waterfall. I can almost hear it even from this far away. You can always hear it long before you can see it. Thayer’s handsome, I suppose. If you can see past the asshole, godlike demeanor. Which I can’t. Power-grabbing asshole is all I can see.
“Life isn’t always fair, Thayer.”
Hughes makes a noise. Apparently, I’m not to call him by his first name. But I don’t care. He’s either going to kill us or he’s not. I hope it’s not. But . . .
“It’s Mr. Z, Hal.” His right eyebrow goes up like a professor reprimanding a student. “You’re right. Things aren’t equal.Easton here is going to get me what I want and I won’t kill you, not today at least.” Thayer’s gaze slips from me to Easton, and he slaps him on his back. “Keep it moving, Hughes. Got to keep this H party on its toes.”
